


Everything I Need

by spn_wincest_etc (babybrotherdean)



Series: Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Porn, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery, Starts as non/dub-con and slides into a Stockholm kinda situation, Stockholm Syndrome, dub-con, with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/spn_wincest_etc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks, in hindsight, that he should’ve seen this coming. With every injection of his own blood, Dean was becoming less demon and more human- something that came with the unfortunate side-effect of rendering the devil’s trap useless. It’s a sick game of cat and mouse, now that his brother’s free, and he doesn’t know what to expect when they reach the end.</p><p>Looking back on it, he’s not sure whether or not he wishes he’d run faster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Need

**Author's Note:**

> _Could you write dark!fic where demon!Dean and Crowley turn Sam into their willing sex-slave (bottom!Sam, top!Dean, dub/non-con)?_
> 
>  
> 
> _Anon who asked for dark!fic: Probably I should write “unwilling”, but I’d like that eventually Sam accepts his role as Dean’s slave. Sorry for confusion, I hope my request has more sense now:)_
> 
>  
> 
> I leaned more towards the Wincest than the Crowley, but. Yep. There's a suggestion that Wincest was previously established (pre-demon things), which is where the slight dub-con comes from (though it's definitely pretty non-conny at the start), and the Stockholm sorta aspect plays into that, too. Anyways, I hope you like it!

Sam thinks, in hindsight, that he should’ve seen this coming. With every injection of his own blood, Dean was becoming less demon and more human- something that came with the unfortunate side-effect of rendering the devil’s trap useless. It’s a sick game of cat and mouse, now that his brother’s free, and he doesn’t know what to expect when they reach the end.

Looking back on it, he’s not sure whether or not he wishes he’d run faster.

-

He can’t quite remember how Dean had caught up to him, in the end. There was a flash of black eyes, an echo of the smirk he knew, and then darkness. He wakes up groggy, restrained, and not alone.

"Took you long enough." Dean sounds more amused than anything, and Sam tries his best to lift his head, blinking heavy lids. He’s pretty sure he’s back in their dungeon, wrists and ankles bound tight enough to restrict his circulation. The ground is cold underneath him, and he thinks he’s sitting up against the wall. He finally manages to get his eyes open properly, and his stomach drops when he sees that his brother isn’t the only one in the room.

"You might as well make some use out of him," Crowley says, boredom in his tone. "Since you insist that killing the lad is off the menu."

Dean looks annoyed for a moment, jaw tightening, though Sam can’t fathom why. “We’re not killing him,” he says shortly.

Crowley shrugs, glances up from where he’d been inspecting a loose thread on the sleeve of his jacket. “Fine. But I hope you realize he’s going to be trouble if you keep him alive.”

"I can handle him." Dean turns his attention back on Sam, then, and Sam tries to sit up a little straighter, some part of him finally waking up enough to realize what’s going on here. That Dean’s still very much a demon, and that he’s very much in trouble right now.

"Dean, c’mon, man, we can still fix this-"

Dean huffs out an annoyed breath, stands and crosses the floor. Sam doesn’t see where he pulls it from, but suddenly something round and rubber-hard is being shoved into his mouth, straps tight around his head being fastened in the back.

"You always were prettier to look at when you weren’t talking," Dean says, thoughtful, as he steps back.

Sam’s almost forgotten Crowley’s presence in his panic, but the demon speaks up again a moment later. “Didn’t take you for the S&M type, Dean.” Then he’s stepping forward, reaching out to brush his fingertips over Sam’s lips where they’re stretched around the gag, and Sam wants to flinch back but he’s bound too tight-

Crowley’s hand jerks back sharply, and it takes Sam a moment to realize that it’s Dean’s doing. “You don’t get to touch him.” His brother’s voice is dark, reminds him of nights when someone had looked too long, touched too freely, and he shivers, tries not to think about what they used to be. This isn’t the time.

Sam barely registers Crowley’s displeased grumbling, or the way that the demon vanishes from the room a moment later. All of his attention is on Dean, on Dean’s hands when they stroke over his cheeks, the almost-tender smile on his face.

"I’m gonna make you beg for it, Sammy," he whispered. "Fuck, you were always so pretty when you begged."

Whether or not Dean hears the soft whimper around the gag, he grins, and Sam feels the chill right down to his bones.

"Here’s how it’s gonna work." Dean straightens up, then, towers over Sam in a way he hasn’t since they were teenagers. "You belong to me. Just like you always have, right?" He winks, almost playful. "And that means that you’re going to do everything I want you to do, no questions asked. S’that understood?"

Sam just stares at his brother, eyes wide and disbelieving. This isn’t happening. This can’t be Dean, can’t be his brother. The dissociation between the face and voice he knows and the malice they’re giving off is disorienting, making it hard to think, and he doesn’t even really realize that he’s slowly shaking his head.

Dean doesn’t seem to like that very much. His grin slips into a scowl, and he steps close again, grips Sam’s chin punishingly tight.

"Fine," he hisses. "Then we can do this the hard way. You always used to like sucking my dick, so this should be a treat for you. Better fucking enjoy it."

Sam barely has time to process that before Dean’s unzipping his jeans with one hand, unfastening the gag with the other. Sam’s mouth is free a moment later, but he can’t even get a word in before his brother’s speaking again.

"You bite down, you’re gonna regret it."

That’s all the warning he get before Dean’s cock is shoving past his lips, and it takes every ounce of willpower and self-control he has not to gag or bite down. It’s been months since he’s done this, and it’s never been like this before. He’s never once seen Dean with so little regard for his safety and comfort, and it’s that thought, absurdly, and not the rough fucking his mouth is getting, that makes tears spring to his eyes.

When Dean laughs, it’s harsh and deep. Sam feels fingers tight in his hair, forcing his head back farther. “Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters.

It sets the precedent for things to come, and for a long while, Sam thinks it’s how they’ll be forever.

-

He doesn’t know how much time passes like that. Dean’s with him more often than not, but sometimes he’ll vanish for minutes or hours or days. Sam doesn’t have a way to tell the time in here, and he thinks it’s probably going to drive him insane.

He’s never really allowed freedom of movement, either. After that first day, Dean produces a chain that gives him a little room to stretch his cramping legs, but not much more than that. He’s naked, too, once his clothes are discarded the first time, and he has yet to get used to the dungeon’s slight chill.

He can never quite decide what the worst part is. The way Dean forces himself on him with no warning, on his mouth or his ass. The collar that’s put on him not long after they start. Maybe the fact that sometimes, on the really bad days, Crowley hangs around to watch.

But then, there _is_ something that’s the worst of it all, he thinks. It’s the fact that there’s a part of it he’s starting to look forward to.

Logically, Sam knows he should be dreading every second of this hell. That he shouldn’t be able to look at his brother- if Dean can even be called that anymore- with anything but disgust and fear. But realistically? That isn’t what’s happening.

Dean is still Dean. At his core, past all the black smoke that’s made him less than human, this is still his big brother, and Sam’s convinced that he can break through to that part.

It slips out, sometimes. When Sam’s left drained of energy, and crying silently, curled up on the floor, and Dean’ll sit down beside him, and start petting his hair idly, and telling him what a good boy he is. How pretty he looked with his ass stuffed full, his lips stretched tight around a gag or his cock. That no one could ever fill this role the way he can.

The going is slow, but the praises and the affection, rare as they are, start to wear down Sam’s defences.

Some days, he’ll still cower and curl in on himself when Dean comes in, when he announces that it’s playtime. He’ll want to run, to hide, to scream and kick and fight (the few times he’s tried that, it hasn’t ended well, and the disappointed almost-hurt in Dean’s eyes is enough to convince him to stop trying). But more and more often now, things are easier. When he’s good, he’s rewarded. It’s getting better.

"Sammy," Dean sings as he steps into the dungeon, grins once he’s closer. "Sorry I was gone so long. Demon fucker wouldn’t go down easy. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you the whole time."

Distantly, Sam registers the blood that’s very obviously splattering Dean’s clothes, staining his skin like another smattering of crimson freckles, but it doesn’t matter. Dean’s been gone far too long (an hour? Five? Twenty-four?), and Sam isn’t about to pretend he was anything but lonely.

As soon as Dean’s close enough, Sam moves closer, keeps to his hands and knees as he’s learned until he can press his cheek against his brother’s thigh, breathing in deep to get a whiff of him. Gun oil and leather, same as always, and it has him relaxing. He hears Dean laugh softly above him, and he’s rewarded by the smooth slide of fingers through his hair, nails scraping over his scalp lightly.

"Missed me, too, huh?" There’s amusement and affection in his voice, and Sam nods. He knows better by now then to speak unless explicitly asked.

He noses against the length of Dean’s dick where he can feel it through his jeans, and Dean laughs again, gently nudges him out of the way. “Yeah, alright, I got it. Hold on.”

Sam sits back as he’s told, completely enraptured by the movement of Dean’s hands as he starts getting undressed, his shirts hitting the floor before he unzips his jeans, leaves them hanging open as he steps forward again.

"How’re you feeling, baby? You all ready for me?" He crouches in front of Sam, reaches down between his legs. Sam spreads automatically, lets out a soft whine when he feels Dean’s fingers pressing up around the plug inside him. "Feels like it. Miss the real thing, don’t you?"

Sam nods, looks at his brother with pleading eyes, and Dean grins. “I’ve got you, hold on.” The plug twists before sliding out of him slowly, and Sam shivers at the loss. “Shh, it’s okay. C’mon, Sammy, let’s see. How much d’you want me?”

Right that moment, Sam wants his brother’s dick more than he wants air, and he doesn’t hesitate to turn around, tilting his hips up and presenting his ass for Dean. He hears an appreciative hum, feels work-roughened hands slide over his back. “That’s a good boy,” he murmurs, and Sam thinks he might cry with happiness when he feels Dean’s lips brush over his skin. “Just relax, babe. I’ll make it good.”

Dean slides into him without resistance, doesn’t hesitate before fucking into Sam hard and fast. His good behaviour has earned him a pair of knee pads, so it’s only his palm on the concrete that are causing him any discomfort. It doesn’t matter, though, not when he’s this full, when Dean’s hands are gripping tight on his hips, when his brother’s leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

"Such a fucking cockslut, aren’t you, Sammy?" he breathes, doesn’t slow for a second. "Bet it’s all you think about when I’m not here, huh? Need something to full up that slutty little hole of yours."

And Sam _moans_ , arches his back and presses back into Dean, because god, maybe he’s pathetic, but it’s true. It’s all he thinks about now, the time between Dean leaving and Dean coming back to fuck him again. He isn’t sure if it’s always been this way, but it’s easiest to just focus on the present.

Dean must be happy with his answer, because he’s rewarded, feels his brother’s hand on his cock a moment later, stripping it hard and fast. It’s rough, it’s dirty, and it’s more than he can take after so long anticipating it. Sam comes hard, cries out and clenches down tight around Dean, knows how much his brother loves it.

Dean doesn’t last long after that, and Sam feels the sharp sting of teeth digging into his shoulder when Dean bites down to stifle his groan. He thrusts in hard a few more times before settling down, still buried deep.

Sam sort of zones out for a little while, caught up in the post-orgasmic haze. He doesn’t really notice Dean pulling out until the plug is being pushed back in, a soft murmur of _"keep you all open"_ barely registering.

What he _does_ notice is when Dean pulls him in close, lets Sam’s upper body rest in his lap. Sam’s almost purring by the time Dean gets his hands on him properly. He’s stroking, petting, tracing down the length of his spine, and Sam presses closer.

He can hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he speaks. “You’re getting better at this, Sammy. Maybe we’ll even be able to put you back in your room, soon.”

Sam isn’t sure that bothers him much anymore. He dozes off listening to Dean muse about getting him a prettier collar, attaching some kinds of shackles to the bed he’s got upstairs. None of it seems to be especially important. Dean’s here, and Dean’s touching him, and Dean’s taking care of him.

Dean loves him. That’s all that matters, he’s sure. There doesn’t seem to be another option here. Things are good, and Dean’s happy. Dean’s happy, and Sam’s happy, and the rest of the world doesn’t matter anymore.

"That’s my boy," Dean whispers, ducks down so Sam can feel the brush of lips at the shell of his ear. "That’s a good boy, Sammy."

Everything he needs is right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm at allywriteswords.tumblr,com if you want to request something. :D


End file.
